


A Promise to a Lady

by DeepBlueJoy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/M, spuffy reunion, woke up on Deep Space 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeepBlueJoy/pseuds/DeepBlueJoy
Summary: Buffy awakens on Deep Space Nine to a new world, a new life, a very old promise and the knowledge that she is still destiny's plaything
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Kudos: 16





	A Promise to a Lady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cosmic Tuesdays](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cosmic+Tuesdays).



> DISCLAIMER: Nope, I checked (again) this morning. I still don't own Buffy, Star Trek or any other series. All I own is my inspiration and my stories.
> 
> _____
> 
> This story was originally created as an EF Secret Santa Gift - 2020 for Cosmic Tuesdays (first published on Elysian Fields 12/25/2020). 
> 
> Thanks:
> 
> Life and migraines worked their will and the 20th became Christmas day. Without help, this story would not have been finished and would not have been even halfway decent. So thank you!
> 
> I owe a serious debt to several kind people who held my hand and gave emergency editing help and feedback. Anabellee & Brooke724 (EF) and Tempus (hubby, TtH) get special mention for their above and beyond. Inachis, Sithspit and Azulkan (TtH) for being there for me forever, and in this particular Christmas deadline craziness.

The very first thing Buffy thought when she woke up was ‘Who is that man?’ The second thing she thought as her vision cleared and she got a good look around her was, ‘Where the hell am I? No, wait! _When_ the hell am I? Damn it Willow! Why do I think there’s no fix for this one? She didn’t know it, but the first sound that anyone heard from her was a soft growl. 

The very pretty man – because that was the only description that came to mind – was immediately at her side, scanning her with his scanner thingy. Well, it had to be scanning, because what else could it be? He had a device the size of a large cell phone in his hand and he was running it back and forth a few inches above her body; then looking at the read out. Whatever it was, it looked complicated – and like nothing Buffy had ever seen before.

The surroundings were pristine in a way that only medical facilities or laboratories ever seemed to be. The décor was sterile, but also completely alien in an elegant, understated kind of way. There were panels on the wall and equipment all around. It all looked highly technical and utterly – again that word – alien.

Buffy raised her hand, “Uhm, when am I? I know this is gonna sound like a weird question, but you see, I think I’m in the wrong century. Definitely not Kansas!”

The man grinned at her. He reminded her of an over-eager puppy, but something in his demeanor spoke of competence and intelligence.

“Superb! You’re wide awake!” He looked at his device again. “For someone who’s been in stasis for centuries, you’re surprisingly on the ball. And you are definitely not Dorothy.”

Apparently, wherever this was, they were familiar with The Wizard of Oz. Centuries?

“No. I’m definitely not Dorothy.”

He grinned at her and instinctively Buffy smiled; then abruptly she schooled her face into a serious expression.

“Look— you look kinda – military, and I’m not really—” Buffy stopped. “You know what? Who’s in charge here? I want to talk to him – or her!”

He stared at her, more than a bit surprised by her command demeanor. 

“Now, please!” she said, sharply, sitting up, and swinging her feet off whatever it is she’d been lying on. The world felt wobbly for a moment, but the feeling passed quickly.

“Yes, ma’am!” he said. “By the way, my name’s Julian. I’m a doctor – and the uniform is Starfleet.”

“Hi Julian! I’m Buffy!” she said brightly. _Starfleet?_

“Buffy?”

“Don’t start,” said Buffy.

“Don’t start what?” said Julian, genuinely puzzled. 

“You know what, never mind!” said Buffy. “Are you in charge? What is this place? How did I end up here? Did you get me out of - what did you call it? Stasis?” _What the hell did you do to me this time, Willow?_

Julian’s mouth was twitching, but he was a total professional, at least, that’s the way it seemed to Buffy. He smiled, but somehow seemed to manage not to laugh outright.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

“Look!” Buffy stood up, as tall and as dignified as she could manage in bare feet and a hospital gown. “I want out of here. Even if this is a thousand years better technology, this still feels like a hospital and I _really_ don’t like hospitals. I saved the world – because apparently, world still turning or we wouldn’t be in wherever this is, whenever this is…” Suddenly, it hit Buffy like a ton of bricks of the totally emotional kind and she stopped. Her perky, in-charge façade faltered; then collapsed entirely. “Oh God!”

“What’s wrong, Buffy?” asked Julian. Saved the world? What _was_ she talking about?

“They’re all dead aren’t they?” Without warning, tears were streaming down her face, and Buffy couldn’t do a thing to stop them. “My friends. My sister. Everyone. If this is the future, then everyone I know – everything I know from my time – it’s all gone.”

“Probably,” said Julian. “I’m so very sorry.”

“You didn’t do this,” said Buffy. “I’m pretty sure you and whoever you work for… Well, if this is some kind of hospital or lab or something? You woke me up, didn’t you?”

“I did,” he said. 

“How long?”

“It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, kinda getting that,” said Buffy, gesturing at everything in the room. “Not even the best hospitals from my time were this spotless… or bloodless… Wait, did you heal me?”

“Heal you?” he shook his head.

“That’s a no then. Why didn’t she wake me up?”

“You know why you were placed in stasis?”

“I can guess,” said Buffy. “Last thing I remember, I was chasing after a big yellow school bus, trying to get out of a collapsing town and bleeding way too much…”

“You really are from Sunnydale, then?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“I studied it in university. I do like history.” He said as if it explained everything. “And Vash had artifacts from the turn of the twenty-first century. She said she dug them up. Wouldn’t say where. But we caught her because Starfleet sent us an alert about looting in Sunnydale.”

“Just how did I get here?” she asked.

“I…”

“What. Happened?”

Her green eyes bored into his brown ones. Julian stared back. His mind was headed in decidedly unprofessional directions. He took a step back, took a deep breath, and began to speak.

“There’s this… archeologist.”

“An archeologist?” Buffy took a deep breath. “Somebody dug me up?”

“Well, she wasn’t supposed to. It’s a memorial park. But she’s – Vash is – er, that is...” He sighed. Clearly he did not want to talk about this Vash person.

“What is she, then? Some kind of Indiana Jones?”

“I suppose you could say that,” said Julian, grinning. “She’s a fugitive from the authorities and an all-round menace. The last time she was here, she tried to sell a dangerous artifact that nearly destroyed the station.”

“Not your favorite person, then?”

“Not anyone’s favorite person around here.”

“She sounds like a piece of work.”

“I really don’t know why she came back to this part of space. Except, I don’t think things turned out the way she expected after she left earth with her loot. Maybe she’s cursed like Lord Carnarvon.”  
“Loot?” Buffy, inexplicably… giggled. “I’m loot now?” Buffy wracked her brain until she remembered that Carnarvon was that cursed guy Giles had told her about. Something to do with King Tut and a mosquito?

“I’m quite certain she didn’t know what you were,” said Julian. “We had to pry you out from several hundred years of rock.”

“I was in the crater all this time,” she said, a faraway look in her eyes.

“Yes, the memorial,” said Julian. “The California authorities forbade anyone to enter the crater more than a century ago, but there have been periodic looters looking to make their fortune.”

“Must be pretty desperate! Sunnydale wasn’t exactly a historic district.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

“You really studied about Sunnydale in school?”

“At Starfleet Academy, actually,” said Julian, smiling at her expression.

“Wait; don’t tell me, we’re in space?” Buffy stood up. “Is that what I’m feeling? Wow. You guys are good.”

“You can feel that?”

“Artificial gravity or whatever it is you guys call it? Oh definitely. Didn’t know what it was… was making me a bit… not seasick exactly, but I had this sensation of moving, but we don’t appear to be – and – well, there’s a lot of little sounds. Quiet, but there’s something there in the background. Just how big is this place? Is this… like moon sized or something?”

“It’s not quite that big. Wait, how do you know all this?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know how I know. Let’s just say I didn’t survive long enough to wake up in whatever century this is by not being aware of my surroundings, and leave it at that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Julian, who could tell she was becoming anxious.

“Wait. What century is this?”

“The twenty fourth,” said Julian. “We’ve woken up more than a few people, most from cultures with sophisticated technology, and other than the ones who could read minds; most of them were a lot more confused than you appear to be.”

“Like I said, I don’t have the luxury of being confused.”

“I’m getting that,” said Julian. “You’re a warrior and a tactician.”

“Something like that,” said Buffy, smiling at him. It felt good to be seen. To be respected. Then she chanced a look around, and caught her reflection in a mirrored glass surface. She looked down in dismay. “Wait, what the hell is this you got me wearing? Oh my god, could this be more dorky?”

Buffy stopped, suddenly aware just how Cordeliaesque she must sound. So much for her new respectable-adult image!

“It’s standard issue. For all our patients,” said Julian.

“Patients? Do I look sick to you?”

“Good point,” Julian said. He spoke, seemingly to thin air, making Buffy frown. “Garak, could you come in here please. I need your sartorial expertise.”

“Be right there, my friend,” said the disembodied voice.

“Wow, cool!” said Buffy.

* * *

Garak turned out to be a bony-necked alien who for some reason immediately began to grate on Buffy’s nerves. She was tense and unsettled to begin with. Then he’d arrived and given her a most ungentlemanly once over.

“I’ve been killing scarier things than you since I was fifteen,” said Buffy, glaring up at him.

Garak just smirked, taking a step forward, and gazing down at her, unfazed. He seemed even taller, though at only 5’10”; it was probably more his bulk and attitude that made him seem to loom. With him standing almost impolitely close, Buffy had to crane her neck to look up at him. This did not improve her demeanor.

“Is that a fact?”

He wasn’t suitably intimidated. Maybe this sleeping beauty thing had robbed her of some of her patented intimidation factor. Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Yup! In fact, you remind me of someone,” said Buffy, smirking. “Except, he was prettier, and he threatened to kill me the first time we met.”

“The first time? You didn’t kill him then? Maybe I should have threatened you?”

“Oh, he had his uses,” said Buffy, smiling slyly. “Don’t try it.”

“Oh, do tell,” said Garak, giving her a sly smile of his own. He responded to her caution. “Are you certain?”

“No,” Buffy said sweetly. “And definitely not! That irritate and charm thing might work on your boyfriend Julian here, but it won’t work on me.”

Julian couldn’t decide whether to be offended or amused. He grinned at Garak; who, without missing a beat, leered at him theatrically.

“Not even if I can get you the height of couture?” Garak asked.

“Nope, not even then,” said Buffy. “I bet there’s some kind of funky machine that can spit out pretty clothes in any color I want, right Julian?”

“How does…” Garak sputtered, finally caught off guard.

“See, I know how this works,” said Buffy airily, with a smug grin. “In the future, they automate everything. We all know this. I just hope they haven’t automated the good stuff.”

“The good stuff?” asked both Garak and Julian at the same time.

“Oh, you know, like sex and killing things,” said Buffy.

“You’ve a live one here,” said Garak dryly.

“You don’t know the half of it,” said Julian.

“Hey!” said Buffy. “Didn’t your mother teach you it was rude to talk about people while they’re still in the room?”

“Sorry,” said Julian, completely unapologetic.

Garak just smirked some more.

“Damn it, Spike!” Buffy muttered. “I knew I couldn’t get rid of you in any century.”

“Spike?” Garak scowled; at least, that was what Buffy thought it looked like on his rather odd physiology. She wondered idly what kind of demon he was.

“You don’t wanna know,” said Buffy softly, turning away and surreptitiously brushing away a tear.

Unfortunately, neither man had been born yesterday; and they didn’t miss her reaction. They exchanged a sad look; then Julian moved surreptitiously over to a computer screen and started entering information. He added Sunnydale and 20th century to his search parameters when dozens of people named Spike came up.

“Maybe we can find out what happened to your Spike,” said Julian earnestly.

“Don’t bother. I watched him die,” said Buffy.

“Are you quite sure about that?” asked Julian, whose fingers had been flying across a touch screen faster than Buffy or Garak could follow, even if Buffy had known just what he was doing. “There’s a record of a Spike AKA William Pratt AKA William the Bloody… I wonder…”

Buffy stared at Julian.

“What?” her voice was a harsh, shocked whisper.

“This claims…”

“Use your words, Julian,” said Buffy, unwilling to deny or confirm anything that might or might not be in the record. 

“According to this, there have been sightings for the many years since the battle of Los Angeles after he’d been listed as missing the year before,” said Julian. “Known associates included Drs. Willow Rosenberg, Rupert Giles, and Dawn Summers. If it’s the same William Pratt, well, he wrote a very famous book about Zefram Cochrane. Zefram Cochrane designed the first Warp engines, so he’s kind of important. I studied that book in in school. You should read it. I’m sorry, there isn’t any record of where or when he died.”

“Dawn and Willow! Giles? Oh God. What battle? Spike wrote a book?” Buffy realized she was beginning to sound slightly hysterical and forced herself not to blurt any more of other dozen thoughts that came to her in a rush. Maybe Spike was alive! Of course, that made no sense. She took several deep breaths and leaned on the exam bed.

“You know them?”

“Yes,” said Buffy. 

There was a call for medical assistance over the intercom. It startled Buffy, but Julian barely reacted. He moved over to the other side of the room where he collected a small case. He checked it quickly, added a couple of items, and then snapped it shut.

“Could you excuse me a moment please, Buffy?” Julian said. He turned to Garak. “Maybe you can help her find something decent to wear?”

Buffy didn’t answer but Garak nodded, and Julian turned and left.

* * *

2004, the Battle of Los Angeles  
Alley behind Hyperion Hotel 

Spike was not having a good night. Maybe it was because it was going to be his last day on earth. He was bone tired and the demons just kept coming.

The battle was brutal. Illyria was by far the strongest of them, but even she was tiring. The rain was blinding, and this was probably the only reason they weren’t dead yet. Angel, Ilyria and Spike. Gunn… was somewhere behind them, losing blood. Dead or dying. Spike didn’t want to think about that. Couldn’t think about it. He’d made a mistake in not calling her again right away, but he’d been too busy being incorporeal and trying to stay out of hell. He’d honestly thought he had nothing to offer her except more pain.

When Illyria had taken over Fred, they had left messages for Giles and for Willow. Angel had even called Buffy. There had been no response. Spike had put off going to her, mostly out of fear. Then, when he’d finally tried her number, there’d simply been no answer. He’d tried Anya and Dawn, because he’d remembered their numbers. But there’d been no answer from them either. Either they’d all changed their numbers, or they weren’t taking his calls. Then, suddenly, they’d been out of time.

Buffy had abandoned them, it seemed. They’d finally won – her friends, that was. Even after what she’d said before he’d forced her to leave him to burn. Unfortunately, thanks to their ignoring him and Angel when they called, it looked like everything might just end tonight. Served them right. The only one he’d mourn was her. She had fought so hard for the world, for her friends. And now it was gonna be bye-bye world. Everything gone! 

Spike saw red. He whirled like a hurricane, his sword cutting like butter through demon after demon. He leapt, using demon carcasses as stepping stones, slicing and stabbing furiously at things much bigger than he was, dodging and ducking to stay out of the way of falling carcasses. Even the adrenaline of rage wasn’t enough, however. There were too many of them. He couldn’t even see Angel or Illyria anymore. The only reason he knew that someone was still fighting was that the throng of demons hadn’t simply just overwhelmed him in their stampede past them, through the hotel and out into the real world.

Then Spike realized the insanity that was the battle had changed. At first, he had no idea how, or why. First one, then another of the enormous dragons wheeling above fell. Then a gout of fire shot into the onrushing crowd of demons from somewhere behind him. There was a sound like nothing he had ever heard. The battle cry of a multitude of female voices. It seemed to come from every direction, even from amongst the demons they were fighting and from the buildings above. They began to stream past him. A horde of women of every description. Then it seemed as though there were thousands fighting beside him. An army. A slayer army.

The battle was still brutal. But now, it was going their way. He had no idea why they were here, but even though he didn’t recognize a soul, he was grateful.  
________

It was over. They had poured fire, magic, and weapons and slayer vigor on the soldiers of the Black Thorn, and closed the portal. The rain had ended. He and Angel had legged it into the Hyperion as the advancing light had told them it was dawn.

He advanced on Willow, the only person he recognized.

“Why didn’t you take our calls?”

“Huh?” she’d said, tiredly.

“Maybe it would be more than just me and the grandsire left if you’d answered.”

“Who did you call?” asked Willow, forcing her eyes to focus on him. She looked as tired as Spike felt.

“You know who I called.”

“Oh God. She didn’t make it, Spike. I thought you were both gone,” she gazed up at him, her hand squeezing his arm. “We all did—” Willow began to sob. She was still speaking, but not making any sense.

“Who didn’t make it?” asked Spike, dumbstruck; his mind unable to process her words. He stared at her. Spike couldn’t have said how he came to be sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall, huge sobs wracking his body. “No, no, no, no, no, no…”

“Buffy. She’s dead,” said another voice. “I’m sorry, man.”

It was Harris. He’d sat beside him, and surprised Spike by placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“She made it out of the school after, but when we stopped the bus…” Xander looked pained, as if the thoughts in his head physically hurt.

“Tell me everything,” said Spike, calmer now, even though tears flowed freely. Even as he spoke, another warm body took its place on his other side. Dawn. She took his hand in both of hers, holding onto him as though she never wanted to let go.

“We stopped... I guess we stopped too close to the crater. The town was collapsing as we drove away, Spike. Buffy jumped onto the roof… I guess she jumped off of a building…” said Dawn, starting to cry herself.

“We thought we were out of danger,” said Xander. “We stopped the bus so she could get inside.”

“We were afraid she would fall off,” said Dawn. “We weren’t exactly going slow.”

“She jumped down, and we could see she was bleeding too much,” said Xander.

“Fuck.” That was all Spike could manage. He was shaking so hard, his teeth were beginning to chatter. He’d been shattered the first time Buffy had died, but it hadn’t been like this. Maybe it was the exhaustion; maybe it was just that his grief was that much deeper. Spike felt as if the ground were falling out from beneath him, even though outwardly, he was still and appeared calm.

“She collapsed,” said Xander. “She said you’d saved us… then she lost consciousness. Willow tried to stabilize her with magic, because she was still bleeding… then there was an earthquake… and everything started shaking. I had to grab Willow, to save her from falling as everything went sideways.”

“How could you leave her?” It came out like a child’s broken wail.

“We had to run from the edge of the crater, Spike. If Robin hadn’t stayed in the bus, everyone in it would have died. As it was, we barely made it. I grabbed Willow. She tried to hold onto Buffy, but then a crack opened up right behind Buffy – and it swallowed her. Everything was shaking and collapsing. We had to get out of there.”

“I thought…”

“What?” asked Dawn.

“I thought she was ignoring us. Ignoring me,” said Spike, who was weeping silently. “When Fred got infected… God, I wanted to kill you lot.”

Xander snorted softly. There was little humor in the sound.

“You know she would never,” said Dawn. “Even if she was pissed at you or Angel; she would have come for this. We didn’t know.”

Spike looked from one to the other, but he could see no sign of deception. “Then how are you here now?”

“Your sire, actually,” said Xander, with a bemused smile. “She showed up at the council’s house in Cleveland and demanded to see Giles.”

“Dru?” Spike gave him a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?”

“I kid you not! Said it wasn’t time for things to end yet. That good times were coming from the stars… and that we had to stop the Black Thorn…”

“You believed her?”

“Of course not!” said Xander. “Faith threatened to stake her.”

“She did something. Then Faith and Giles invited her in.”

“Thrall.” Spike wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what came next.

“The rest of the girls surrounded her. Then she said that you were here and that we had to save you… Oddly, that was what got them to listen. That’s one strange lady,” said Xander.

“You don’t know the half of it, mate,” said Spike.

* * *

Bozeman, Montana, 2063 

Spike really wasn’t sure what he was doing out here in the middle of nowheresville. Except, he really had had enough of the council. Too many of the people he’d worked with over the years were dead, people he’d called friends. Chosen as family. For the most part, it hadn’t even been demons. He’d promised her to take care of them, but even he had no power over old age or war. The human capacity to create mayhem and death never ceased to amaze Spike. Bozeman was as good a place to drink and listen to loud music and occasionally get laid. Zefram and his friends were the right kind of crazy.

Maybe Dru had been right all those years ago… about something good coming from the stars.

He really wouldn’t have given them much chance of doing it, except that he needed something to hope for, to believe in. The supernatural had long since ceased to be a major threat. Humans were still excellent at bolloxing up things all by themselves. The new council was half a century old, and he’d decided he needed a break. Too many reminders of what he’d lost. Not enough for him to do anymore. He’d kept his promise. He would always keep his promise. He’d looked after Dawn, and even the slayer’s friends. He wasn’t gone for good, but after decades as the head of slayer training, he was glad to move on.

Before Buffy, he and Dru had roamed the world. For decades after Los Angeles, Spike split his time between the ol’ Blighty and the bloody blighted mistake on the lake. They’d finally bound the Hellmouth in Cleveland with barely a skirmish back in that miserable year 2020, and that had marked a steep decline in serious supernatural events worldwide. Other than peaceful demons, now, thankfully, off the hunt list, and the occasional random free range evil, the supernatural was mostly quiet. Many of ‘his’ girls had followed dreams completely unrelated to slaying. Unsurprisingly, a significant number were to be found in the military, fire and rescue services and law enforcement.

The first night he’d met Zefram Cochrane was the last time he’d had to hunt a truly dangerous vampire. It had been one of the few he’d seen outside a major city in years. Albert Hahn had been, according to police records, the worst serial killer in years. What idiot turns a serial killer?

Cochrane had always gone off by himself when he was frustrated, angry or depressed. Fortunately for him, that was the night that Spike had finally caught up with Hahn. Cochrane had been loping along, clearly too pissed to feel any pain, or notice much of anything. Spike had seen Hahn notice him, and discreetly begin to follow the oblivious drunk away from camp.

“Fuck it.” Spike had given up hope of tracking the vampire and offing him out of sight of civilians.

He’d grabbed Hahn just as the serial killing vampire went for Cochrane. Cochrane might have been blind drunk, but he knew a serious threat when it tried to throttle him into submission, and Hahn had not got his teeth anywhere near Cochrane’s throat.

“What the fuck?” Cochrane had seen Hahn’s face.

“Get off him!” Spike had yelled.

Hahn had snarled at Spike while he tried to get a better grip on Cochrane’s throat. Cochrane’s height made this difficult, and as Hahn attempted to drag him down, Cochrane had kicked the vampire hard in the groin. Maybe it was the bloodlust that had made him careless. Maybe he had just been stupidly over confident after all those kills. It seemed that he hadn’t known Spike was a vampire. He probably outweighed Spike by fifty muscular pounds. Clearly, he hadn’t believed that Spike could stop him. He’d simply ignored Spike. That was his last mistake. Spike had moved so fast and twisted his neck so suddenly, that Hahn had simply dropped bonelessly to the ground, down for the count. Cochrane had grasped his own neck and stumbled back, wide eyed. Spike immediately brought his stake down, and the vampire dusted. In the half dark, he must have seemed to just vanish.

“Oh shit,” said Cochrane. “What the hell was that? What did you do?”

“Vampire. Dusted.”

“Vampire?”

“Yeah,” said Spike. “Bloody menace.”

“Guess you saved me. Not sure why.”

“I was chasing a serial killer.”

“Serial killer?”

“Al Hahn,” said Spike. “Been chasing him for weeks.”

“You’re a cop?” Cochrane gave him an assessing look.

“Not exactly. I could tell you…” Spike smirked.

“But then you’d have to kill me? Do the world a favor.”

“You have a death wish?” Spike looked him up and down, thoughtfully.

Cochrane shrugged. 

“Death is overrated.”

“And you know this from personal experience?” Cochrane’s tone was sarcastic, skeptical.

“I do.” Spike looked up at the very tall man with the slightly morose face. “Dying sucks. And the people you leave behind… You don’t want to do that to anyone.”

“Who’d you lose?”

“Lost my girl. Was a long time ago. Didn’t even find out until a year later.”

“She was your girl and you didn’t find out she was dead for a year?”

“I was a mess. Like I said. Dying is a bloody pain in the arse.”

“You really died?”

“Yes.” Spike didn’t back down, but he didn’t explain either.

“Damn,” said Cochrane. “You’re not kidding.”

“Trust me. There’s not a bleeding thing that’s funny about any of it. And yeah, you drink, but the drinking doesn’t really make it any better. It just makes it hard to do anything useful.”

“And you want to be useful?”

“I made a promise to a lady,” said Spike.

“Ahh,” said Cochrane. “So this… this is what? Penance?”

Spike shook his head.

“Not my bag. But she’s not here. I suppose I’ve got to live for both of us.”

________

Three weeks later, when Cochrane surprisingly made the flight that every one of his rabid followers had simultaneous believed in and doubted would ever happen, Spike was still in the camp. That night when the Vulcans arrived in that honest to god bloody enormous spaceship, he was there. Lily wrote a book about the flight, about the important technical stuff that would someday serve to document the how of everything. Spike wrote his book about the man. The who. The human part that mattered to Spike, now even more than it had before his soul. Before Buffy and her band of misfit toys had transformed his life and saved the world; that somehow were still saving the world, whose children were saving the world. She would have been proud. 

The poet, dreamer and warrior wrote about the people. That fucked up little family Cochrane had gathered around him, honestly had felt familiar to Spike. Familiar, and eventually precious. Though he knew he would never fully cut ties with the Council, not even when everyone he’d known in Sunnydale was long gone, he’d never really belonged, not without Buffy.

Over the years since Bozeman, he had slowly built lifelong connections with like-minded people who didn’t quite fit into ‘polite’ society, even after fame came calling. Cochrane’s clan had become part of Spike’s strange and wonderful extended family. Even centuries later, he stayed in touch with many of their descendants.

Spike’s book had become a bestseller. Eventually, it was taught in schools, translated in dozens of languages. Spike couldn’t believe it, but for some reason, it had sold much better than the flashier books written by famous authors that lionized a man Spike did not recognize. The book had done for Spike what the actual flight had eventually done for Cochrane. It had made him a very, very wealthy man. Spike had finally become one of _those_ vampires. He’d set up trusts and investments. Over the centuries, the ‘family wealth’ of William S Pratt, Sr., Jr., III and various iterations of his ‘descendants’ grew. He had everything a man could want or need. He still wished he could share it with Buffy.

* * *

_Dedication_

_For a woman like no other; she changed everything.  
She was my light, my transformation, my joy.  
She taught my soul to dance, my heart to love,  
We should have danced forever._

Buffy reluctantly set down the tablet that held Spike’s book. She’d read it three times. She knew she would read it again. Even without the dedication, she would have known it was him. She could almost hear his irreverent, fierce voice; hear the admiration and the love that Spike obviously had for his friends, though he had refused to turn Cochrane into a saint. That may have been why it worked so well. She almost felt she knew the man as captured from Spike’s honest, caring portrait. That was why it continued to be read. It was real.

Buffy had tears in her eyes – tears for both the Spike she missed so much, and for the way he’d vividly captured the amazing beginning of faster-than-light travel, and everything that had led to the place where she found herself now. 

Buffy was restless. She found herself following the corridors from her assigned quarters, yet again, until she was back on the promenade. She stood looking out the window at the wormhole as she had earlier. Even though there was more waiting than viewing, she remained. She couldn’t stop looking at it in wonder.

She felt grief and a sense that she’d been completely uprooted, yet, as the days passed, she began to feel a sense of freedom she hadn’t felt in a long time. From what she’d read, carefully digging until she found information about the council, they seemed to still exist. There were even Gileses and Harrises working for the council. Whether there were Summers or Rosenberg descendants, would be a bit more complicated, since their last names might have changed.

Evidently, the planet faced very few serious threats from demons in the 24th century. What had once been websites about things demonic had evolved into a network of information and archives that went back all the way to the twentieth century. Fortunately, they had only ever listed the slayers by first name, years of service and place of death, if known. That was a blessing, or the Federation’s search for her might have come up with some very interesting material! 

Buffy S, 1996-2003, Sunnydale, CA. It had a surprisingly accurate list of her major accomplishments, including the fact she had activated the slayer line.  
Kendra Y, 1997-1998. Sunnydale, CA. Her list has been way too short.  
Faith L, 1998-2070, San Francisco, CA. Her tenure had been illustrious and had included three years at the helm of the council. She’d lived a long and apparently very successful life. Buffy envied her.

She could go to school now. She could do it on the amazingly powerful computer in her quarters, or she could attend school on any of a dozen different friendly planets. If she didn’t want to go back to school in person, she could roam through the known universe and never run out of places to go. Apparently, it wasn’t that difficult to hitch a ride somewhere interesting. Only the quality of the ride was a matter of concern. Most people who wanted to travel signed on as crew. She would have to learn to pilot a craft, but she’d been told that for the most basic shuttles it wasn’t that difficult. The fact you could fly a long time without anything to run into couldn’t hurt!

For now, she would get a job on the station. Oddly, the one thing she had little interest in doing was returning to earth. With everyone she loved gone, except possibly Spike or Angel, there was simply nothing for her there. After centuries, she was sure they’d moved on. Since space travel was highly variable, she could not imagine either of them straying far from earth. At least, if what Angel had said about flying was true. That assumed they were even still alive. There was nothing in the databases that confirmed their existence after about 2200 for Angel. After the book, Spike had evidently taught English literature at Oxford!

After the first few weeks, when she’d scoured old archives nonstop for information of all her extended family, and come away extremely depressed, she’d stopped looking. It just hurt too much. She considered contacting the council anyway. Maybe she would at some point, but for now, she had Julian, Garak, who reminded her of Spike more than a little, and Dax, who was, as Faith would have said, ‘a hoot.’ She had the help of everyone on the station who worked for Starfleet. DS 9 was never boring either. She even had a place to work out. She did what she’d always done. Buffy Summers adapted.

She still missed her friends. She missed her sister. She even missed Sunnydale. Most of all, however, she missed Spike.

She was still trying to find any information about him, but, apart from “Collected Poems”, published while at Oxford, there wasn’t much. When she ordered it, she discovered that it was going to be printed, not loaded onto her tablet. It was a slim book, with a plain off-white cloth cover. That dedication simply said: ‘For Buffy’.

Buffy had cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Woman Arrested for looting Sunnydale Memorial site.

The article was short. Apparently a disgraced archeologist had raided the site and flown directly off world. Some observant soul at Starfleet had figured out who she was, and more importantly, where she’d been. The alert had yielded results. Spike could go days without thinking about Sunnydale and Buffy now. That had actually been part of why he’d withdrawn from the council all those years ago. Everything and everyone there reminded him of who wasn’t there. Then Spike noticed the name. 

Vash.

“Bloody hell.”

Now, that was a name he hadn’t heard in a while. It was one he would have been happy never to hear again. What had that bloody cow done this time? Trouble always followed that woman, and sometimes preceded her as well. For someone so attractive, smart and well-educated, she managed to get into a frightening amount of mischief. She was greedy, impetuous and completely without morals. It was a terrible combination.

If Vash had stolen anything from Sunnydale, he already knew two things. One, there would be items of value. The woman knew her artifacts and history and she was an exceptional judge of financial worth. Two, there would be trouble. If there was something dangerous, she would be bound to find it. And since this was Sunnydale, there was no telling how dangerous. Spike realized he would have to investigate.

Evidently, this was the second time in a few months that she had ended up at Deep Space 9. The commander had not been amused and the consequences, for once, had been swift. It didn’t seem she’d be able to talk her way out of this one. She was, as the old timers in London used to say, properly nicked.

Well, that was just dandy.

* * *

About once a week, Buffy met with Commander Sisko for what Buffy knew was a welfare check of sorts. He wanted to know if she was adjusting. If she needed anything. At least, this was how it had started. They actually got along, and he was delighted to know everything she could tell him about daily life in the twentieth century. Even though she thought she knew nothing about sports, there were still questions she was able to answer – things that she hadn’t even thought might be interesting. 

Buffy had finally decided it was time to ask a question that had been on her mind for the last couple visits.

“Do you guys still have the stuff that woman stole from Sunnydale?”

“It’s in the cargo bay where we secured it after we arrested her,” said Sisko.

“Can I see it?” asked Buffy.

“I don’t suppose there’s any reason not to show it to you, now the legal niceties have been resolved,” said Sisko. “May I ask why you want to see it?”

“I just wondered… if any of it might have been mine… or my friends,” said Buffy. “I mean… I don’t have anything left, you know?”

“I imagine that must be difficult,” said Sisko.

“The hardest thing is that everyone I loved is gone. I thought… maybe I would find something to remember them by, you know?”

“I understand. I’m sorry, Buffy,” said Sisko, nodding. “Have you found any information about their descendants? As I said before, we can arrange transport back to California or wherever you need to go, if you wish.”

“I’ve found a little. It was just me and my sister left, anyway. I am sure I will want to go eventually, but none of them know me, so I think… I think I need to get into the right headspace first,” said Buffy. “Right now, I’m just trying to get used to living in a different century. You guys have been good friends. I feel welcome here. That makes it easier.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said.

“So… who should I ask about visiting the cargo bay?”

“I’ll have Dax take you,” said Sisko.

Buffy grinned. She and Dax were becoming really good friends. The fact that Dax had lived multiple lifetimes meant she was fascinating to talk to and she got the complexity of living what was essentially a complete, separate life from her previous one. Dax was also funny as hell.

“Cool!” said Buffy.

_________

The first thing that Buffy saw was the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign, leaned against a wall. It was framed by some kind of protective display box that looked like clear plastic, and was in surprisingly good condition.

“Wow,” Buffy said, touching the box. “That’s the last thing… I think I remember it falling into the crater. Do you have any idea what they’re gonna do with all this stuff?”  
“None whatsoever,” said Dax. 

The room was large and only half full, but there had to be many hundreds of pounds of items, maybe thousands. There was even a large brown shell that had evidently surrounded her, and which engineering had cut away. It looked like the pale California dirt she remembered. Except that it had solidified as if someone had fused it. Buffy hadn’t seen it before. 

“I can’t believe they didn’t cut me in half,” said Buffy.

“They suspected it was some kind of escape pod. It was the right size. They scanned it and saw that it was had faint life signs.”

“Well, I guess I should be grateful to that woman,” said Buffy.

“If she hadn’t found you, you might have remained there indefinitely,” said Dax.

“Buried alive. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t wake up!” Buffy had a sudden flash of fear. Memories of the inside of her coffin flooded back to her. She had to force herself to focus on Dax, and not to hyperventilate.

“Well, I don’t know what the archeologists are going to do with the stuff here, Buffy. Maybe Benjamin can convince them that you should have a claim to whatever you want. It isn’t as though it can be sold legally.”

“This is mine.” Buffy had opened her eyes, and the first thing she’d seen had been a glint of red. It was standing behind the remains of the stasis shell, as Julian called it. 

“That is a beautiful weapon. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.” Dax reached out for the red weapon. It was partly imbedded in a huge piece of rock. Evidently, someone had blasted the rock repeatedly with a weapon of some kind. The rock was broken and jagged, but where the blade was planted, and in a circle about two feet around it, the rock was unblemished and smooth.

“It seems to be stuck,” said Dax, applying considerable strength to it. Dax stood back and stared at it.

Buffy simply reached out and tugged. The weapon slid out soundlessly.

“Oh boy,” said Buffy, sounding almost disappointed. A cold feeling passed through Buffy as she felt the energy of the weapon flood through her. As soon as she’d seen the scythe again, she’d known that her arrival here was no accident. It looked as if she was going to be destiny’s bitch again. Well, damn.

“You got it out!” Dax turned to her, smiling. When she caught Buffy’s shattered expression, the laughter abruptly died.

“Buffy? Is something wrong?”

“You mean, apart from the fact that everyone I love is dead, and I just King Arthured this fucking thing out of rock for the second time? And I’m alive yet again because Willow wouldn’t let me die? No! Nothing’s wrong. I’m just peachy!”

Buffy was yelling, at this point, shaking with rage, tears running down her face.

“I just wish that fucking destiny would leave me the hell alone and let me rest in peace!” said Buffy, the hysteria leaving as quickly as it had arrived. 

She dropped the scythe to the ground with a clatter.

“I’m sorry, Buffy,” said Dax. “Destiny is a complicated thing.”

“You’d think after I gave them thousands of slayers, they wouldn’t still need to screw with me.”

Dax just stared at her, bewildered.

* * *

Dax sat with Buffy in her quarters for hours as Buffy tearfully poured out her life history. For some reason, there were no calls from the commander or any other emergency.

“My god, I think you’ve gone through more in your short life than I did in seven.”

“Well, I died twice… maybe three times if you count when I got shot. I guess this time I was only sleeping,” Buffy shrugged. “Maybe I’m a cat.”

“A cat?”

“Maybe I get to have nine lives,” said Buffy with the merest hint of a smile.

Dax laughed.

“It’s a saying we had back in my time,” said Buffy, smiling. She’d gotten used to explaining the many ordinary things she said that appeared to go over people’s heads, even with the translators.

“It isn’t all bad,” said Dax. “Living many lives, I mean.”

“You chose it,” said Buffy quietly.

“That’s true,” said Dax. “But Buffy… None of us has any control over the things that happen to us.”

“This is the first time in my adult life that I have gone more than 24 hours without killing something. I was kinda getting to like it.”

“I can see why you might,” said Dax.

* * *

“Oh Spike,” Buffy said, “That feels so good.”

Spike lifted his head from his ministrations to her breast.

“You don’t know how beautiful you are,” said Spike. “You taste good too.”

“Well don’t stop,” said Buffy.

“Yes, Ma’am!”

His tongue made the most delicious swirls. Buffy gasped. Buffy had never realized how sensitive her breasts were until Spike had spent hours just sucking and kissing and licking them. He’d sworn he’d make her come by just touching her breasts. And he had. Several times. 

“But I want you inside me!”

“It’s not either or, luv,” he said. “Just be patient.”

He moved glacially slowly down her body, giving attention to every nerve ending and ratcheting up her arousal as he seemed to find new places to kiss and caress. Buffy reveled in every touch. He worshiped and savored her until passion became a flood that swept them away.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, opening herself to him completely. Her limbs felt like butter. Her bliss was complete. “I love you so much.”

Then she woke up... to a platinum head between her legs doing the most delicious things. For a few seconds between sleep and full wakefulness, she savored the sensations. Then, the trickle of arousal turned to ice and she sat bolt upright.

“Computer! Lights!”

“Hello cutie!”

“Oh my god! You-You look exactly like Spike!” she yelped and scuttled back away from the leather clad, platinum haired Spike-like creature. “What are you?”

Not-Spike looked puzzled.

Buffy was out of bed, and scrambling into her clothes. Her hand found the scythe without taking her eyes off the Spike creature.

“I’m Spike,” the creature said, sounding exactly like the Spike she knew and loved.

“No. You’re not,” said Buffy. 

She grabbed him by the perfect copy of Spike’s duster. The scythe was in her left hand. She propelled him out of her quarters, and headed toward Odo’s office. He was more docile than she expected, but that really didn’t surprise her. Whatever he was, she didn’t get the evil vibe. Yet, she knew he was dangerous. Anything capable of distorting her perception so completely was extremely powerful.

By the time she made it to the promenade it was snowing. She ran into the doctor, who had Dax draped on his body, if she were anymore boneless, she’d turn to treacle. Not-Dax. Suddenly the penny dropped.

“A wish,” she said. “This is some kind of wish… or dream.”

“I’m real, luv,” said Not-Spike.

“Julian,” she said, “You know she’s not really Dax, right?”  
Julian looked almost mesmerized.

“Of course, I’m Dax,” she said, sounding exactly like Dax.

“No, you’re not,” said Buffy. “What was the name of Curzon Dax’s wife?”

Not-Dax just stared at Buffy.

“He didn’t have a wife,” said a voice behind Buffy. It was the real Jadzia Dax.

“But she doesn’t know that,” said Buffy. “Because she only knows whatever the person who dreamed her or wished for her knew.”

“We need to find out what is causing this,” said Dax. “Come with us to ops.”

________

Buffy was back in her room. She’d gone back to her room as soon as Sisko had figured out that it was their minds that were feeding the chaos that was threatening to destroy the station, and he had talked everyone down off their crises. It had been a difficult, frightening day, and now it was over, she realized just how much she had missed Spike. She replicated an omelet and a cup of tea, and put them on a tray which she set on the bed. Not-Spike had appeared in her room right after she’d sat down on her bed and was pulling off her boots.

“Why did you do this?”

“We are on a mission,” Not-Spike said. “We’re trying to learn about different species, different worlds.” 

“A mission to make people crazy and create chaos?” asked Buffy. “How? By violating our most private moments? We have names for people who do stuff like that, you know.”

Not-Spike looked horrified. Buffy willed herself not to get sucked back into that particular dark memory. Instead, she glared at the figure before her.

“We are explorers. The humanoid mind is an amazing place. The humanoid imagination fascinates us. Take you, for example. You carry in you this man Spike. He loves you with everything he is. You created me. I was party to your most intimate thoughts…”

“You invaded my mind, you mean, and if I’d have been stupid, what you would have done? That would have been rape,” said Buffy, her voice cold. “Don’t you think it’s wrong to play with people? Are we some kind of cosmic ant farm that you can play with and destroy at will?”

“We never thought of it that way,” said the entity, sounding less like Spike than before, though the body was still the same. The eyes now had an unearthly green glow. “We just wanted to learn.”

“Then maybe you should use your own imaginations. Join the human race or some other humanoid race and live as they do… Learn their customs, and even how they think, how they _suffer_. Humans explore the galaxy, but we have the prime directive. We don’t mess with people. I never realized why it was important until now. Maybe you could learn something from us!” Buffy’s voice rose with confidence and pride. 

“We could do that,” it said, sounding thoughtful.

“Yeah, but you won’t,” said Buffy, cynically. “Because you have so much power, you can make our memories, our desires and our fears real. You can create people and even cosmic events out of thoughts. That’s just too easy for you to give it up. You don’t have to take responsibility for anything.”

“That’s not true!” it said.

“Would you have let us destroy ourselves?” asked Buffy. “Because if Commander Sisko hadn’t figured it out, if he had been less of a leader… Everything out here might be gone. Give me one reason I shouldn’t end you?”

“You can’t,” said the entity. 

“You might want to look into that imagination of mine just a bit further,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. She let her mind flow back to that night on a tall tower, the impossibly long fall – chosen because it was necessary; to the day in a mansion where she had pushed a sword through both Angel’s heart and her own… to the moment when her hand and Spike’s had both ignited. Then she sucked in a long shuddering breath, and opened her eyes again. “I’ll do anything to protect my world… worlds, even. You get that, right?”

Not-Spike was crying. It met her eyes and nodded.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” she said.

“You are truly selfless,” it said. 

“No, I’m not. I’m just… I’m just a girl. A girl with a not so fun destiny she can’t get rid of,” said Buffy. 

“You don’t believe that,” said Not-Spike. “I think you chose to be one of the change makers. You gathered others around you and you made them that way too. You do know that everything here now is here because you helped make a world that could flourish, right?”

Buffy stared at him. “I didn’t do this.”

“You had help. You chose to have help. You chose to free all those women to be everything they could be,” said Not-Spike.

“Now you sound like an ad campaign.” Buffy chuckled.

The thing that looked so much like Spike grinned at her.

“Stop looking like him!”

“Doesn’t it please you to see his face?”

Buffy didn’t tell it that she wanted nothing more than to drag it to her bed and pretend for a long, passionate night.

The expression on its face told her that it knew exactly what she was thinking.

“I want the real thing. If I can’t, then I guess I have to move on.” Or not. The dreams that came almost every night told Buffy that would be nearly impossible.

“But you love him,” said the entity, who had morphed so it now looked like one of the Dabo girls that Buffy had been making friends with.

“I wish I had realized how much before he was burning up,” said Buffy. “Now I’m… alone and it’s too late.”

“You’re not alone,” it said.

“No, not quite alone, but I’ve outlived everyone I ever loved and I know there’s something coming.”

“I have confidence in you, luv,” it said, looking and sounding exactly like Spike. “You can face whatever comes.”

Before she could react, it vanished.

* * *

“You think that the artifacts might be dangerous,” said Sisko.

“Sunnydale was a strange town,” said the visitor who had introduced himself simply as Spike.

“Dangerous how?” asked Sisko. “It didn’t have any advanced technology does it?”

“I’ve… met Vash before,” said Spike evasively. “You know what she’s capable of. She’s venal, selfish and reckless. She collects whatever she thinks she can sell to the highest bidder… she doesn’t care if it’s dangerous.”

“I’m well aware of that fact,” said Sisko, wondering if he should mention Buffy. But Benjamin Sisko hadn’t gotten where he was without learning to be cautious. “But I don’t know you. You say you are an expert on Sunnydale, but you don’t have credentials.”

“Actually, I do,” said Spike, with what sounded like a sigh. 

He pulled what looked like an oversized black leather wallet from his jacket and flipped it open. On one side was his photographic identification card, at the bottom of which were embossed what looked like two coats of arms, the one on the left he recognized as the Coat of Arms of Great Britain. The other was identical to the gold badge on the left side of the wallet. The ID stated that his name was William Pratt and that he was Senior Representative of ISWC, whatever that meant. The hair was longer now, but the face was identical. It bore no expiration date. 

The three dimensional gold badge consisted of a frieze of stylized female body with a sword held aloft, superimposed on a shield which bore a red cross. At her feet were a pile of books. Beneath one foot was what looked like a misshapen skull of something not quite human. On either side of the central figure, outside of the shield were two smaller figures, their images were only slightly embossed on the surface of the badge. One, a male, held a crossbow, the other, a female, held what looked like… some kind of pot? A cauldron! Above the head of the central figure, but not quite touching it, was a crown. I.S.W.C was inscribed on a red ribbon at the very top of the badge. The edges of the badge formed a many-pointed star that protruded only slightly from beneath the circular form of the badge. Sisko studied this carefully. The badge was heavy. He doubted it was a fake. He suspected the gold colour was actual gold and that the small stone in the crown was a real diamond chip. 

Then he studied Spike for a long moment. He wore his long, light brown hair in a braid that ended between his shoulder blades. He was thin, but, Sisko suspected, quite fit. Pale white skin, full pink lips and bright blue eyes. The kind of face he suspected most women would find attractive. He had a scar over his left eye and there was something very familiar about him, though Sisko couldn’t quite place it. His coat and boots were both the same rich, clearly expensive chestnut brown leather that looked soft and well cared for. He wore black trousers of some kind of woven material, probably denim. His clothes fit so well they had probably been made for the man wearing them. The air of culture and the quiet English accent didn’t fool Benjamin Sisko, however. The man before him was extremely dangerous, though whether he represented a danger to the station or to him personally, Sisko could not tell. 

The wallet was in excellent condition, but there was something about it that looked old, maybe even a bit old-fashioned.

“Just how old is this?” he asked.

“I got it in 2010,” said Spike, who stood with his arms behind him, relaxed; a slight smile on his face.

“You got it in 2010?” Sisko stared at him.

“Yes,” said Spike. “You may verify my employment with the council if you wish.”

“I intend to. Vash has already caused us enough trouble.”

“That I don’t doubt,” said Spike, disgust plain on his face.

“What did she do to you?”

“She stole a book from us,” said Spike. “A book that could have ended civilization as we know it.”

“A book?”

“The book had a demon inside.”

“A demon,” said Sisko.

Spike just raised his left eyebrow, plainly amused.

* * *

Sisko had verified from Spike’s employer that he was who he said he was, though he had not been able to find out anything about them other than that they were on good terms with the various governmental entities, and known to Starfleet. The admiral he’d spoken to had smiled mysteriously and said, “Whatever you need to know, I’m sure he’ll tell you.”

He and Odo accompanied their visitor to the cargo bay. Sisko pressed the buttons to access the room, and the doors slid open. Spike took one step inside the room and stopped.

“Buffy,” he said softly. It seemed as though he took a deep breath, and he turned and headed directly toward the sawn pieces of Buffy’s stasis container. “D’you find ‘er body?”

Spike’s question was almost incomprehensible.

“I’m sorry?” Sisko looked at the man who had insisted on being called ‘Spike’.

“I said. Did. You. Find. Buffy’s body.”

There was no mistaking the threat in Spike’s voice. 

“We cut her out of that thing,” said Sisko. “You know her?”

“I love-loved her,” said Spike, his voice breaking. “I still love her.”

Spike kneeled in front of the pieces of the hard packed dirt coffin, his hand on the side of the largest piece. Sisko nodded to Odo who turned and left. Spike stood up.

“I want to see her,” said Spike. “I don’t care what you found. I need to see her.”

“I understand,” said Sisko. 

“No, you don’t,” said Spike.

“I lost my wife,” said Sisko, quietly. 

“I’m sorry,” said Spike. “It’s just…”

The door to the cargo bay opened, and Buffy walked in.

“Buffy.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to look like him?” Buffy yelled at Spike.

“Not to look like who, luv?” Spike’s head cocked to one side, puzzled.

“Spike?” Buffy stared at him.

Both stood, immobile for a moment. Then, faster than either Sisko or Odo could see, suddenly they were in the middle of the room, holding each other and sobbing.

_________

“Are you sure you want to be with me, Spike?” she asked after the third or fourth time they’d made love. 

“Are you seriously asking me that?” asked Spike. “I’ve loved you all these years. Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?”

“Because I’ll die again. Maybe soon, maybe in eighty years…”

“People live longer now,” said Spike. “A lot longer if they want to. Some of the slayers have lived to be over 150 years old.”

“But… I’ll get old…”

“I don’t care,” said Spike. “I love your body, it’s true, but it’s your heart that changed everything.”

“My heart?” she said. “I couldn’t even tell you I love you. I couldn’t even let myself believe I loved you.”

“Love is bigger than that, Buffy. I’ve never met anyone like you. Not before, not since. Don’t believe she exists.”

“I’m not a paragon. Geez. I’m a valley girl. Not that bright. I want to look pretty, wear nice clothes, style my hair, and party. Do they even exist anymore? Valley girls, I mean?”

Spike laughed.

“You have no idea! The more places I go, the more I realize that we’re not that different. Vanity, shallowness, pride? Every vice, every virtue. It’s out here same as it is back on ye olde planet earth.”

“I kinda noticed that, actually. Even with all the professionals out here. We’re all human… or whatever.”

“And Buffy?” he paused, his gaze earnest. “You’re not remotely stupid.”

“No, probably not. But I’m not an intellectual. I’m never going to write books or teach at Oxford.”

“I don’t care,” said Spike. “I want you, Buffy.”

“I don’t deserve you,” said Buffy.

“I don’t deserve you either,” said Spike. “I guess that makes us even.”

* * *

When they were married by Commander Benjamin Sisko on the promenade the following Christmas, they were surrounded by friends and family. In the crowd were descendants of Xander, Dawn, Willow, Faith and Giles. Also in attendance were many of Spike’s family of choice, descendants of Lily and others from all those years ago in Bozeman. Buffy looked out at the crowd of friends and family mingling happily. More than a few wore Starfleet dress uniforms. Not-Spike had been right. They’d built a wonderful world. Both she and Spike had had a hand in it. This, she thought, was only the beginning. She reached for Spike’s hand, and squeezed. Spike squeezed back.

“I’m so happy,” she told him.

“I’m the luckiest man in all the worlds,” he whispered.

Spike took her in his arms, and they began their new dance, one that would take them on a trek across the stars.


End file.
